


Dig Up The Bones

by maddierose



Series: Elethea Ambrose Chronicles [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2017-12-21 07:24:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddierose/pseuds/maddierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elethea Ambrose volunteers for the 69th Hunger Games out of sheer arrogance, but she doesn't realise that it's winning that makes a person come undone. When she finds herself slowly becoming a monster, when she starts losing who she is, there's only one person to turn to - and he's just as broken as she is anyway. Finnick/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our Temple, Your Tomb

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, still getting used to working this site...hopefully you enjoy this!

" _We took you right from_

_Your mother's womb_

_Our temple_

_Your tomb."_

_\- The Wolf, Fever Ray_

* * *

**Elethea's POV**

It had grown on me like a weed, this obsession to prove myself. I know what the other would-be tributes see when they look at me, the potential volunteers from District 4. They see a fourteen-year-old girl, a child. Some of them call me 'squirt', probably because I'm barely over five feet tall. Other don't call me anything at all, because apparently I'm not worth talking to. But this year, I'm going to prove them all wrong.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen!" Jehovah, the District 4 escort, is as upbeat as ever as he beams out over the sea of young faces he was confronted with – including me. But I know that this year was different. This year, I will prove something that few Careers ever can. Brute force isn't the only thing that can win the Games. "Now, we all know why we're here. We all know about the Dark Days, and how the districts rose up against the Capitol…"

I stand patiently in my section with the rest of the fourteen-year-olds. Another two weeks ago I would have been back with the thirteen-year-olds – not that anyone could really tell. I like to think I could pass for fifteen, maybe even sixteen – although definitely not something that's due to my height. I'm practically a midget. I fiddle boredly as Jehovah keeps rambling on about the Capitol and the failed uprising, before I focus my attention on Finnick Odair, the most recent Victor from District 4.

He's gorgeous, let's just put it that way. No sane girl in Panem could ever deny it. He won the 65th Hunger Games a few years back, and was only something like eighteen years old currently. He'd been only fourteen when he'd won – the same age that I am now. I've been training since I was ten, like most kids from my district. Most volunteered when they were older, stronger…bigger. I thought it would be cool to show Panem that Victors could be young, that not all Career Victors were six-foot boys who would weigh in at over a hundred kilos.

"So without further ado, I would like to call upon this year's girl tribute from District 4."

My head snaps up at Jehovah's words. This is my chance, and I have to take it quickly. There is no time to think or deliberate. I just step out and toss back my black hair.

"I volunteer."

Finnick watches me make my way up to the stage, but not an interested way. I can tell by the look in his sea-green eyes that he thinks I'm going to die, and that just makes me even more determined. People judge me based on my age and size before they've even seen me throw a knife. I bet he thinks I won't survive the bloodbath.

"Name and age, young lady?" Jehovah inquires.

"Elethea Ambrose." When I speak, my tone is completely clear and confident. I can betray no hint of doubt. "Fourteen."

"Elethea, if you would go and stand over there, please." Jehovah gestures to the side and I obediently go to stand in my designated spot. "The boy tribute is…Dominic Deran!"

Dominic walks up and I recognise him vaguely. He is a sixteen-year-old boy with sandy hair and blue eyes. Finnick watches us both intently, evaluating us. It's unusual for someone to be reaped without anyone else volunteering in their place, but no doubt Dom was the sort of guy people knew would make it. He's almost a foot taller than me and I know I'd nearly have to crane my neck to look up at him.

"Tributes, shake hands," Jehovah orders.

I turn to Dom and shake his hand with a firm grip. He watches me warily. I might only be fourteen but no doubt there is a fire in my green eyes, at least I hope there is. I am so determined, probably a little over-confident as well.

"Really think you got what it takes, Deran?" I ask quietly when I release his hand.

"Yep." The confidence that I feel is mirrored in Dom's eyes. "You?"

"That's why I volunteered." I give Finnick the approving once over. He is definitely as attractive as I remember. He was around six foot two, with bronze skin and sea-green eyes. I'm fair with freckles across my nose. God, I hate my freckles. "Besides, you're only like…two years older than me."

"So?" Dom raises his eyebrows. "Age doesn't always matter, Ambrose."

"Yeah, true," I drawl as the rest of the district watches us being escorted into the Justice Building. I have to be a little nervous about what my mother and my eleven-year-old brother, Medalleon, will think of me volunteering. Will they judge me, condemn me for my choice to leave them behind? "I'll still flatten you in training."

Dom just chuckles. "We'll see."

I mill around inside the Justice Building, looking up when the door is wrenched open and my little brother runs over to me. Joy suffuses me and I pick him up and hug him, well aware that it might be the last time I see him. Volunteering had seemed brave at the time, but now I only feel stupid, like someone trying to prove something they can't. Can I really survive the Hunger Games with an opponent like Dom?

"Leon!"

He clutches onto me tightly, and I notice Mum follow him over. She's a serene woman who has hardly ever smiled since the death of Dad ten years ago, caught in a net like the fish he tried to catch, but right now she looks grimmer than ever. I wish that my choice hadn't brought my family such sadness and pain, and right now I regret it more than ever. I wouldn't have been chosen, I'm almost certain of it. I had chosen the Games, instead of the other way around.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay," I assure Leon. I understand that he doesn't want to lose me. He had only been a baby when our father had drowned. Although he couldn't mourn a man he'd never known, there was a sort of emptiness there, like a hole in Leon that couldn't be filled. "I'm going to win."

"You better win," Leon says fiercely, and I can't help but swell with pride. My brother is strong already and he is only eleven years old. I would never want him in the Hunger Games, but if he did participate, I'm almost certain that he'd win. He has the same sort of fierce determination that has seen people like Finnick Odair through to the end.

Mum watches the two of us with a sad smile, her eyes solemn although her lips twist upwards into the mockery of a smile. She has seen many of the Games – and knows how horrific they are, how full of violence and death. It must hurt her to know that I'd willingly condemned myself to this, but I want to prove a point…yet now it seems stupid, arrogant.

"You know me. You know I've trained for this." It's true. I might be small, but I have learned to use the lighter weapons to my advantage. I am fast. Speed is my weapon. I can move faster than most of the bulkier tributes. "How's your training?"

Being eleven, Leon has only just started his training. He makes a face at the mention of it, though. He's one of those impatient kids who can never sit still, but being told what to do when isn't his idea of fun.

"Boring."

I grin and ruffle his hair, before turning to my mother, smile fading a little. "Mum."

Mum can't restrain herself from hugging me tightly. She buries her face in my dark hair. I pat her back, slightly embarrassed. I think she realises, as I am just beginning to now that it is too late, that even if I do make it home, I will never be the same. Mum had seen the Victors, seen how hollow they were. I'd seen them too, yet I'd stupidly believed I could overcome any obstacle, as though I am somehow  _stronger._

"I'll be fine," I insist, more to placate Mum than because I believe it to be true.

"Promise me you'll come home," Mum begs desperately.

I bit down on my lip, tasting blood. "You know I can't do that."

"Please." Mum tightens her grip on me, unwilling to let me go although she knows she will have to. "Just promise me that."

"Either Dom or I will come home." I relent, unable to cause my mother pain even if it means I have to lie. We're Careers, so there's the high possibility that Dom, at least, will return to District 4. "I promise that much."

Mum smiles sadly and kisses my cheek, before Leon hugs me fiercely again. I observe my little brother, ruminating on how much I am going to miss him when I went to the Capitol…Mum, too. My heart aches and I want to say, let Mum hold me in her arms forever, but I have to go.

"Be good for Mum, Leon," I tell him firmly, falling into typical big sister mode.

"I always am," Leon reminds me.

"You better be." I try to sound mockingly threatening, but my voice is flat. "Don't forget to watch, okay?"

Leon nods fervently. He has no choice but to watch. He will watch me die…unless I can prove myself strong enough to live. "I will. I always do."

"You going to volunteer when you're older?" I ask. It's a common question around District 4. I think I already know the answer, although I wish I could somehow change it. Why had I made such a stupid choice? Had I really been so caught up in false thoughts of glory and honour and triumph?

Leon nods again, so vigorously I'm half surprised his little head doesn't drop off. "And I'm going to win."

I smile at his optimism. "Good boy."

"I'm going to miss you." Leon kisses my cheek, his tender affection surprising me. Leon is at the age where hugging and kissing is seen as embarrassing, but I think even at his young age he realises I might not be coming home.

"I'll miss you too," I admit, forcing away my feelings of loneliness. I hadn't even left yet and already I'm missing my family. "I'll bring you back some Capitol food if I can."

Leon grins ecstatically. "That would be awesome!"

"They look so weird," I remark, referring to the Capitolians. Leon and I had always giggled about them, how colourful and silly they were. We used to joke during the earlier Games, point out the stupid things so that we didn't have to get caught up on the death and violence. "You'll get to see them again."

"I know. I can't wait." Leon sounds excited, because to him, the Games are still just something he watches on television. They aren't real, not yet. If I don't come home, he won't really understand that I'm  _gone._

"You have to train hard, okay?" I persist. I am almost desperate now. I just want to keep talking to my family forever, so that I'll never have to leave them. I would talk about anything and everything, if only to be with them.

"I will." Leon nods vehemently. "I promise."

I gnaw at her lip as the Peacekeepers venture towards us, clearly intending to remove Mum and Leon. "I think I have to go and wait with the others now."

Mum embraces me tightly, swallowing the hard lump in her throat. "Try to come home."

"I will," I hope that she's right, that I won't let them down. "I promise, I'll do my best."

* * *

**Finnick's POV**

I spread myself across the lounge as the train rushes towards the Capitol, examining the two tributes I'm going to have to work with. The boy is the elder of the two, maybe a couple of years younger than me. He's got the look of someone who could do well, as he's a little off six feet and well-muscled from his training. The girl's another story completely. She's young, too young in my opinion. She's dark-haired and sweet-faced with a curvy body, but she can't be any more than fourteen.

"Look at all this stuff, Dom." The girl – Elethea, I think her name is – curiously observes the coloured bottles of alcohol that are lined up on mahogany benches. Dom stands beside her, but although Elethea's face is glimmering bright colours from the glass and rapt with fascination, her district partner is more reserved. Elethea turns to glance at me, noting the drink in my hand. "Are we allowed any?"

"Nope. Sorry, honey, you're too young." I have to admit it's an amusing question. Does she really think I'd let a kid her age drink alcohol? Dom grows bored with the display and comes to sit down on the couch across from mine, but Elethea remains where she is, standing on tiptoe. She's in awe of all these thing she's never seen before. Even the rich in District 4 can't afford some of this alcohol.

"Cool," she breathes, before walking over and sitting down beside Dom, green eyes wide as saucers. "What are the other Career tributes like?"

"Oh, they're big." I remember a little of what I saw from the District 1 and 2 reapings. The girls are both at least a few years older than young Elethea, the boys easily over six feet tall. They've definitely got some tough competition to contend with. I realise, with wariness stiffening up my muscles, that I've got to get some big favours in to keep these two alive. "Older than both of you are, too."

"So, is it still a good idea to team up with them?" Dom asks, leaning forward. He's the more cautious of the two, the more likely to sit back and plan while Elethea will dive straight into trouble. From what I've seen, of the two of them, he's the more likely to survive.

"Yeah, but be careful," I warn. You can never fully trust anyone in the Games, not even your district partner. Most tributes don't need to be told this, but most tributes from 4 are volunteers in their late teens.

"So, what sort of angle should we play?" Elethea inquires eagerly, joining in on the conversation. "Like, tough?"

"You'd be better to play a sweet angle," I tell her. She's got the face of a little doll, this one. She could easily play the cutesy card, which is one of the advantages of her young age. I turn to her district partner. "Dom, I'd lay low. Don't show them your strengths or weaknesses, if you can."

"Is it because I'm small and young?" Elethea inquires, but her tone is curious rather than offended.

"Yeah," I rake a hand through my hair. Her shrill voice is already beginning to grate on my nerves, her childish curiosity irritating me. "Look, I don't know what you  _can_  do, but neither do they."

"So what do we focus on in training?" Elethea persists. No doubt she's learned skills during training, but I highly doubt a girl of her size would be skilled with any of the heavier weapons.

"Survival skills," I notice that Dom is watching me closely, his expression fierce. "Practise with the weapons, see which ones you feel comfortable with and train with them, but don't give it all you have."

"What do we do in the bloodbath?" Elethea asks. Jeez, this girl definitely doesn't have a shortage of questions to rattle off. I suppose it's better than silence, although I can't help but wish she'd give it a rest. "Go for the Cornucopia?"

"Hang back." I shake my head fervently. "Sweetie, you don't want to get taken out. Let the other four Careers kill and then once they're done, go over and grab your weapons. Make sure you form an alliance with them when you're in training though."

"Dom would be better at the alliance thing then." Elethea glances at her district partner. I don't know too much about either of these kids, but Dom seems to be pretty laid-back. I'd rather he took it up himself to talk to the kids from 1 and 2 rather than leaving it to Elethea.

"If they don't agree, you should avoid them in the arena," I suggest, turning to face Elethea abruptly when she scoffs, tossing back her long black hair.

"I'm not afraid of them."

I frown. Maybe this girl is more stupid than I initially thought. Fear is good. I was only her age when I won the Games, and it sure as hell wasn't easy. I've had to deal with arrogance from some of these tributes too smarmy for their own good, and they usually die early.

"Well you should be. They're dangerous. You're stupid to think otherwise."

Elethea scowls petulantly. "I'm not stupid, but they probably are."

I sigh heavily. Another one of those kids who thinks they know better. "If you don't want my advice, then don't take it. I'm just trying to keep you alive."

"You won easy, though," Elethea says coolly, which makes me angry. Easy? She thinks there's such thing as  _easy_? This stupid, stupid little girl. She knows nothing about how hard the Games really are. How could she know?

Elethea shrugs nonchalantly. "Yeah, well, you got given a trident coz you're a pretty boy."

"El, stop it," Dom insists, frowning across at his district partner.

"So?" I can't help but snap, getting to his feet. I'm normally the charming guy, the flirt, but Elethea's found something else. It isn't like me to lose my cool, but she's touched a nerve – a raw, bitter memory. "You think that made it easy for me to kill people? You think it makes the nightmares and regret easy? You really know nothing, Elethea."

Elethea tilts her chin up stubbornly. "I volunteered to bring pride to my district. That's what I intend to do."

"Well, you won't do that when you're dead," I respond flatly, getting to my feet and walking out of the compartment. There have been tributes who annoy me and tributes who made me want to pull out my own hair because they're so dumb, but Elethea is the first to rile me up – and we're still just on the train. How am I meant to cope with a girl so infuriating?


	2. Riddle Me This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thanks for the kudos and bookmark! Really appreciated, hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter Two: Riddle Me This

 

“The addiction, the friction, it burns you alive

So illegal, no evil is seen with these eyes.”

\- Lolita, The Veronicas

 

Elethea’s POV

The train hisses into the station as I stand by the window, glued to the outside world. The Capitol is a place of certain death for twenty-three tributes, yet it’s so beautiful. It’s practically bursting with colour and as always, my curiosity is running at a dangerous high. In fact, I’m so absorbed that for a moment, I forget Dom and Finnick are in the room, too. I don’t even glance at Finnick – because no doubt he’s still mad at me for yesterday.

“What do you think?” Finnick inquires, his question prompting me out of my reverie. He doesn’t sound like he’s holding a grudge, but I’m too fascinated by the world outside to spare him a look so that I can see for sure.

“Cool,” I breathe, noticing that another train has already arrived at the station. I’m immediately nervous, but then I realise that these tributes must be from 3. The only reason I know this is because Finnick said the tributes from 1 and 2 are much bigger and older than Dom and I. These two being cheered onto the platform are young. The girl’s around Dom’s age, but barely taller than me. The boy’s maybe my age and very slender. By the fear on their faces as our train stops behind theirs, I highly doubt either is a volunteer.

I collect myself and take a deep breath, my stomach fluttering a little apprehensively. I’m confident, but I’m not really the sort of person who knows how to present myself to a crowd. Dom knows. I can see it on his face as he straightens his shoulders and emerges from the train with a dazzling smile across his face. At first, I’m a little taken aback by the intensity of the roar from the Capitolians outside, but I do my best, smiling until my face hurts. 

Finnick and Jehovah quickly usher Dom and I into the training centre, and we go up to the fourth floor. Even the elevator is amazing. I press a hand against the transparent glass, watching my reflection do the same. Everything about this place is ethereal. So very different from back in District 4, where the sun beats down on your skins, the sand sticks between your toes and the waves spray salt in your hair.

“Your prep team will come to collect you in about an hour.” Finnick sinks into a chair, looking relieved. “You’ll be separated and seen to by your stylists.”

Jehovah offers him a glass of white wine, and he takes a deep, appreciative gulp. I wonder how mentoring can be such hard work. All he really has to do is give us pointers, tips on how to survive. So far, it’s not what I’ve been expecting. I’m a Career. Was I really expected to run? Admittedly, I’m a bit unimpressed by that suggestion.

“I’m going to check out my room,” Dom pipes up, walking out of the main entrance to find it. I glance at Finnick, who’s already looking weary and swilling his glass of wine. I follow Dom down the corridor, skipping until I catch up with him.

“What do you think our costumes will be this year? Should we talk to the other Careers before the chariots, or during training?”

Dom turns to face me, a slight frown turning down his lips. “Give it a rest, El, we’ve only just got here.”

I sigh heavily and venture into my own room. Dom isn’t snappy really, he just sounds tired, too. I glance around and the room completely overwhelms me. My family isn’t what you’d call poor, but even what we have back in District 4 is a pale comparison to the room I’m in now. The window takes up an entire wall by itself. The bed…I can’t resist the urge to throw myself down and roll around. It’s huge, big enough for three people at least. I give a contented sigh and flop back on my pillows.

“You’re a nut.” I jerk upright at Dom’s amused chuckle from the doorway. I’m a little embarrassed at having been seen in my moment of private joy. I flush and push myself to my feet, noting the Dom is studying me intently as he leans in the doorway with his arms folded. Is he thinking about how easy it would be to kill me? “Come on. We should get something to eat before our prep teams come.”

 

The prep team prods and pokes me until I feel that I’m sore all over. My hair’s been twirled into a top knot, before being braided so that it falls down my back. The prep team had argued over whether to bronze my pale face, before agreeing it would just look tacky as it wouldn’t go with my complexion. My lashes are coated with thick black mascara, my green eyes rimmed with golden eyeliner.

But it’s my costume that bothers me the most. It’s a sparkly gold thing – I don’t know what else to call it – a sort of thin band across my that barely covers my breasts. I had a set of tiny matching shorts and over that, a net is draped, as if that will somehow conceal me more. I storm over to my chariot with a scowl, noting that Dom is wearing a similar costume except without the gold band around his chest.

“Do we seriously have to wear these costumes?” I demand.

“Yes.” Finnick observes me critically, while Dom looks more perpetually amused than anything. “Why?”

I throw up my hands. “I’m practically falling out of it!”

“It’s not that bad,” Dom comments mildly with a shrug, as Finnick grins boyishly at my discomfort. What sort of sponsors am I meant to gain from wearing a fishing net and not much else?

“That’s because you don’t have boobs,” I grumble. It’s true though – at fourteen years old, I’m already sitting at something like a D cup, so I really don’t need my breasts to be flaunted any more than they have to be. I frown as Dom starts laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“You actually look nice,” Dom replies, which causes me to stop in my tracks. Nice? Well, that wasn’t really how I would describe my costume.

“For once,” Finnick adds in a mutter.

I glare at him. “For once? What is that meant to mean?”

“Exactly that,” Finnick replies cryptically, only serving to annoy me now. I’m not in the mood for games right now. All I want is a proper costume. Over in their armour, the pair from District 2 are snickering. We can’t all look as gorgeous as Finnick Odair all the time. I swear, it’s not fair. Even when he gets up in the morning and he should be all bedraggled and icky, he looks so hot.

“This is a net, Finnick,” I remind him, shaking the offending material with vigor, “I’m wearing a net.”

“Here.” He sighs heavily and steps over, fixing the net up and hitching up the gold band around my chest so it isn’t showing as much of my breasts. It’s better, but I still feel like my costume is a catastrophe. Although, Finnick Odair’s hands had been dangerously close to my boobs, so I guess that’s a plus. Kind of.

“Thanks.” I glance around and notice the pair from District 1. Both are wearing jewels that hardly cover any of their bodies. Neither of them seems to be perturbed by it. “At least we’re not as bad as District 1. They’re practically all jewels. Dom, don’t push me off the chariot, okay?”

It seems random, but it’s happened before, and I don’t want to become another victim just for a bunch of laughs from a Capitol audience.

“Why would I?” Dom raises his eyebrows, clearly perplexed by the idea. When I roll my eyes to express the obvious, his frown deepens. “To gain sponsors, you mean? How would I manage that by pushing you off?”

“Don’t give him ideas,” Finnick warns, watching as I pull myself onto the chariot and Dom steps up beside me. “Smile and wave, kiddies.”

“Kiddies?” I repeat incredulously as District 1’s chariot lurches into motion. Finnick is only a little bit older than Dom, who is only a little bit older than me, so how can he see us as children? “Really?”

“And relax,” Finnick adds. I force a smile as our own horses move forward. It makes my face hurt after a while, all the fake smiling. How can Finnick and the other Victors stand it? I can’t help but glance around a bit nervously as we make our way towards the square. Dom notices and grips my hand.

“It’s okay.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, wrenching my hand from his as if it’s poisonous. I start waving, that stupid broad grin still across my face. I notice that Dom has copied my actions. The crowd is full of colour and motion. I can hardly hear over their dull roar. “We look like idiots.”

I lapse into silence as the chariots drew around for the presidential address. Now we are stationary, I can get a good look at the others, especially at District 1 and 2 – who would soon become our allies. The boy from 1 was tall, easily over six feet, with a mop of blond hair and a square jaw. He is sturdily built and pays way too much attention to his district partner, a slender girl with silver-blonde hair. Actually, I think that’s her name – Silver. The boy is Xavier or Xander or something like that.

Whereas District 1 are somewhat flirtatious, District 2 are a very serious pair. The boy is even taller than the District 1 guy, maybe 6’3 or 6’4. He has spiky brown hair and his arms folded over his chest as he listens to what President Snow is saying. The girl has fire-red hair and is tall and lean. I can’t remember their names right now, but both of them seem fierce. A little shiver runs down my spine.

“Feel any better?” Dom’s voice brings me back as our chariot wheels around and we begin the procession back.

“A bit,” I admit. Seeing the tributes from 1 and 2 hasn’t exactly done me a world of good. Dom is a lot taller than me, but both of the other boys tower over him. The girls are slimly muscled and I’d guess they are probably a lot stronger than me. I step off the chariot, shivering a little in the night’s cool air. Finnick walks over and I fiddle with my net, wishing I had something warmer to wear.

“Did we do okay?” I ask a little worriedly.

“You did brilliantly,” Finnick assures us, making me grin in delight. My stomach rumbles and I glance down, realising I haven’t eaten anything since I’d stepped off the train. No wonder I was hungry.

“Dinner now?” I inquire hopefully.

Finnick laughs at that. “Yep. Come on.”

 

Finnick’s POV

I walk across to the lift, Elethea and Dom trailing obediently after me. They did good, considering the skimpy costumes they’d been given. I notice Elethea wrap her arms around herself and shiver. I follow her gaze, noticing the boy from District 2 staring at her intently as we step inside the lift. It’s a little creepy. I press the little gold number 4 and the lift whizzes upwards.

“I’m going to get changed,” Elethea declares, bounding down the corridor to her room. I can already smell the delicious aroma of food waiting for us. I haven’t been mentoring for too long, only a few years, but I already know the drill. Dom mumbles an excuse and goes to change as well. I can’t say I blame the poor kids. Elethea’s breasts were nearly spilling out of that ridiculous costume of hers.

Elethea skips back out in jeans and long-sleeved shirt, while Dom wanders out at a more dignified pace. We all go to sit down at the table, and I note that Jehovah hasn’t arrived yet. Probably out for a night on the town with his Capitolian friends. So long as he’s getting sponsors, it doesn’t bother me.

“Now I feel decent,” Elethea states contentedly.

“You look it, too,” I remark, heaping some steaming chicken with Dijon mustard on my plate.

“Yeah, well, I’m not falling out of my clothes now.” Elethea shrugs, pouring herself a cup of cloudy apple juice. Dom, like any typical teenage boy, has already started eating, his plate heaped with a small sample of everything.

I inspect them both with a critical eye. They’d done well in the chariots and no doubt would earn some sponsors, but training is different. Dom is more mild and would probably keep to himself, but I can see Elethea as the type who’d try and show off. While Elethea is all wide-eyed innocence – not to mention a heavy dose of arrogance – Dom is more reserved, likely to save his opinion until he’d taken everything in. Personally, I’d put more money on a slow-burning fire rather than an instant spark.

“Training tomorrow,” Elethea sighs heavily. “Great. We’re going to get eaten alive. We’re little.”

Instead of correcting her and informing her that she’s the only little on, Dom wisely chooses to take another bite of his cauliflower.

“You’ll be fine,” I assure them, hoping Elethea’s negative attitude won’t impact on Dom. She might be downcast for now, but tomorrow she’ll be all cheeky grins and attempts to hurl her knife right into the heart of something.

“I hope so.” Elethea cuts her chicken up into small pieces. “What do we do, then? Focus on survival, or our skills?”

“Try and balance it out,” I suggest. I glance over at Elethea and wonder what a weapons a girl so tiny could possibly wield. “What weapons can you use?”

“Small knives,” Elethea replies with a hint of pride in her voice. I think she mentioned something about that on the train – boomerang knives. The curved ones that spun through the air with deadly aim, and came whirling back to her.

“Focus with them,” I instruct, before turning my attention back to my food. It’s been a long day, and I need to eat.

 

I sprawl on the couch and sip a drink laced with rum, swilling the glass every now and again. It’s only my first night in the Capitol, yet it shouldn’t surprise me that already I’ve had a client to visit. A woman with cat-like eyes and a Cheshire smile who’s taken a liking to Dom, and says me being in her bed will pay for him to win. I shudder to think of what Dom might endure if he wins, but Elethea worries me, too. She’s young, but already she’s almost got a woman’s body.

“Why are you up?” A curious voice rouses me from my thoughts, and she’s there, rubbing her eyes. She wanders into the kitchen and pours herself some water from the jug, before glancing back at me. She crinkles her little nose when I merely shrug. “Well, that’s not much of an answer.”

“Can’t sleep,” I mutter in reply. It’s not exactly a lie. The disgust at the things I have to do to try and keep children like little Elethea alive is scarring.

“Why?” She asks, with a child’s curiosity.

“Not feeling very well.” I don’t meet her eyes, raking a hand through my hair. “I’ll be okay.”

“I worry about you,” Elethea says quietly, causing my head to snap up, eyes suddenly sharp as she regards me carefully. She’s just a little girl. I’m none of her concern. The things I do to keep her and Dom alive are nothing to do with her. “You seem older than your age. And lonely.”

“It’s just the Games,” I say dismissively, but I can see the panic rising in her green eyes. I can’t scare her about the Games. She volunteered for this, she wanted this. I won’t shatter her dreams. Elethea has to see the truth for herself.

“Is that what they do to people?” She inquires in a small voice, one that makes me not want to answer.

“It’s hard to keep a relationship,” I confess softly.

Elethea looks a bit confused. “Romantically?”

“In general,” I admit. The only thing I’ve experienced is meaningless flings with Capitol women, be they old or young. It doesn’t matter, so long as they pay. It doesn’t matter, even if it leaves a sick taste in my mouth and makes bile rise in my throat.

“You could make friends with other Victors,” Elethea suggests, and I find it kind of cute that she’s trying to take up this role, as if she can advise me instead of the other way around. “The youngest from 1 aren’t much older than you. They’d understand.”

“Trust me.” I wasn’t sure if Gloss and Cashmere were courtesans too, but if they were, I didn’t know about it. My voice hitches slightly and there are tears welling in my eyes. Dammit. “They wouldn’t.”

“Why not?” Elethea persists, truly ignorant to my sadness. “They won, too.”

I shake my head ruefully. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” she argues, before she seems to regret her harshness. “So who would understand? Why do you shut people out?”

“El, only a few people would understand.” My voice is quiet, and I’m hoping to convey the message that I just want to leave the subject along. She’s a pest, but she’s also so very innocent, ignorant to the world. “I’m sorry, but you aren’t one of them.”

She scowls at that. “I’m not a child.”

Yes, you are. “I know.”

“Is that why you’re upset?” Elethea tilts her head to the side, observing me carefully as though still trying to make sense of it all. “Because you won?”

I shake my head. It’s only a small part of a much larger truth. Elethea, for whatever she likes to say, is just an innocent little girl. She wouldn’t even be able to begin to imagine the things I have to try and do to keep my tributes alive. I watch as she bites her lip, green eyes troubled.

“I don’t understand.”

“Maybe you will one day,” I mumble. That’ll only happen if she wins, though. Then she’d know what it’s like to be a Victor. Inspecting Elethea, I have to admit that she’s a pretty thing. Even if she does win, which is unlikely enough, I hope she’ll never understand the pain of being sold out. “El, this isn’t about winning. It’s what about what the Capitol does to some people after they win.”

“What do they do?” She asks, all wide eyes and naivety. She’s such a pain, in the fact that she’s persistent and won’t back down. I can’t possibly tell her, although I’m tempted to because she’s going to die, because she’ll never have the chance to give away my secret.

“They make you offers,” I say wearily, raking a hand through my hair and taking another sip of my drink, “Offers you can’t refuse.”


	3. The Careers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has left kudos! It would be really lovely to get some comments about what you guys think of this :)

**Chapter Three: The Careers**

* * *

 

_“Sanctus Espiritus, redeem us from our solemn hour_

_Sanctus Espiritus, insanity is all around us_

_Sanctus Espiritus, is this what we deserve_

_Can we break free from chains of never-ending agony?”_

_\- Our Solemn Hour, Within Temptation_

* * *

**Elethea’s POV**

I pick up a pair of curved knives and examine them, watching out of the corner of my eye as Dom hefts up a spear. He hurls it at the target, hitting a little off-centre. I’m not too astonished by his strength, but this clear display is an indication of what my district partner is really capable of. Not far away, the rest of the Careers are mucking around – Silver from 1 jumps on her partner’s back as he hefts up two axes. Xander is knocked to the ground and the axes go flying as Silver laughs and rolls to her feet.

I ignore the Careers and weigh the knives in my hands, fully aware that they’re whispering and looking over at me. What if I throw and miss due to nervousness? I don’t like to think I’m apprehensive, but I want to make a good impression. The Careers probably already think I’m a little kid as it is. The boy from 2, Romulus, says something and glances at me. Out of the Careers, he unnerves me the most. Maybe it’s because he says too little and stares too much.

I take a deep breath and focus, holding the knife lightly as I remember from my training. I draw my arm back and give a slight flick of my wrist, watching as the knife slices across the dummy’s chest, just a thin line, before I catch it as it boomerangs back. In the earlier days, I had trouble catching and would end up with wicked cuts on my hands. When I turn back, I notice Romulus’s impassive gaze on me.

Satisfied, I set the knives aside and realise that Dom has likewise given up with the spears for now. I skip over to him and tug at his arm, causing him to look down at me with a slightly annoyed frown, as if I’m embarrassing him.

“Dom! We have to do the survival stuff.”

“What?” Dom seems too busy watching Romulus lifting a sword that’s nearly the same size as me.

“Survival skills,” I repeat slowly, as though that might have more chance getting through to him when he isn’t even paying attention. “Like Finnick said.”

Dom snaps out of it and sighs. “So now you’re taking his advice…”

“When did I not?” I arch an eyebrow. I’ve always listened to what Finnick says. Sure, I might counter his words with my own, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to totally disregard what he says. “Come on.”

Dom follows me over, and we deliberately ignore the whooping and jeering of the other Careers as Romulus hacks off a dummy’s head in one clean stroke. I sit down cross-legged and gather up a heavily frayed rope. I can only hope we manage to get our hands on better supplies than this in the arena, because this rope would stand no chance for anything. Dom’s eyes dart between the work his nimble fingers are doing, and the Careers. They’re now huddled together talking, glancing over at us.

I try and focus on my knots, but it’s hard when people are staring. After a few minutes, the red-haired girl from 2 – Melia, I think – trails confidently over to us with Romulus trudging behind her. I look up at the powerful pair from 2, the fierce girl and the muscular boy, as they approach. I try and suppress any apprehension I feel. I’m not their inferior. I might be smaller, but I’m a Career, too.

“Hey,” Romulus says casually, in the sort of tone that implies we’ve met before and are good friends.

“Romulus.” Dom’s tone is stiff and says we’re not friends at all.

Melia smirks down at the pair of us, and the frayed rope in our hands. “Hey, kids.”

“I’m not a kid.” I can’t help but flare up. I’m sick of people treating me like a baby because I’m one of the younger tributes in this year’s Games. Melia can’t be more than two years older than me, Dom’s age.

“You are compared to us,” Romulus informs me in that deep baritone voice of his. Compared to him, Dom looks like a weakling. I don’t see how some of the tributes from lower districts are meant to survive when they’re up against such raw physical power.

“What do you want?” Dom asks, shooting me a glower to warn me to stay quiet, as if I’m embarrassing just by opening my mouth. I glance past the pair from 2 to see Silver and Xander in quiet conversation across the room. There’s something else that catches my attention, something a bit unusual. The pairs from 3 and 6 are over by the poisons station, and they seem to have joined up.

“You’re from a Career district.” Melia examines her nails like we bore her. “You figure it out.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Want us to join your little pack?”

Romulus shrugs, but I notice his eyes travel over me. “It is desired.”

“Alright.” Dom nods slowly, almost hesitantly. We both know that although we may not like the other Careers, it’s better to be in the league with them than not. The moment we refuse is the moment we become their number one targets. “We will.”

Romulus smirks and inclines his head, clearly pleased by our compliance. I wish I could argue against them, but showing off my spitfire temper is a sure way to make an enemy of those who are meant to be my allies. Romulus walks back over towards the pair from 1, Melia sauntering after him. I watch them go and bite down on my lip.

“Is it really a good idea to join up with them, Dom?”

“Better than being against them.” Dom glances at me quizzically, and I can immediately tell that he sees my confidence slipping. I can’t let him see me as vulnerable. I won’t play the scared little girl to be taken care of. That’s not me, it isn’t who I am. I want to be seen as tough, not someone who can be picked off easily.

“What if they kill us in our sleep?” I insist. I know I’m being paranoid now, but I’d rather that than end up with my throat being slit. I lapse into silence, knowing that Dom can see my insecurities. Maybe that’s his angle: to be the trusted one. He seems gentle and kind, the sort of person you can open up to. But I’ve seen him throw that spear with deadly aim, and I know he could kill without a second thought.

“One of us stays awake while the other sleeps,” Dom suggests sensibly, but even then I know I’ll be sleeping restlessly, worried about him looming over me with a knife in his hand, waiting for the opportune moment to strike… “One of us will get out.”

“Yeah, one guess as to who that is,” I mutter, putting down the frayed ropes. My hands are already beginning to get calluses from tying knots. I stare down at the blisters developing on my fingers. “You’re bigger, smarter, stronger. You stand a better chance.”

“We _both_ stand a chance,” Dom insists firmly, and I stare at him with a slight frown crossing my lips, trying to decipher him. Is he truly so adamant, or is this just another part of his nice-guy act? I’m not sure that I can tell the difference anymore.

“Yeah,” I agree rather flatly. The fire that Dom sees inside me, it’s starting to burn out. “Yours is just higher.”

* * *

 

“The axe has to be bigger than her.”

“Even her district partner finds it amusing.”

I grit my teeth against the derogatory whispers of the other Careers as I attempt to heft up the twin axes I’d seen Xander using yesterday. I can barely lift them, it’s true, and I’d expected maybe more support from Dom – but he’s laughing along with the rest of them. That makes me even madder, even more determined.

“El, stick with knives,” Dom insists, his tone amused as he watches my continuing struggle against the weight of the axes.

“Shut up, Dom,” I snap at him. Why should I listen to anything he says? He just laughs at me anyway. It stings like I’ve cut myself, because I thought he really was nice, but now it seems like it was all just an act. “They’re all laughing at me. I have to do something. Something to show them I’m not a kid.”

I realise after a few more moments of struggle that all I’m doing is humiliating myself even more, making me look stupid and immature. I dump the axes in frustration. Maybe one of the other Careers might be willing to teach me something. Dom doesn’t exactly look ready to jump in and help. I resist the strong urge to kick the hilt of the axe, and stalk over to where the other Careers are chatting away.

“Hi there, short stuff,” Xander greets joyfully, eliciting a laugh from Romulus. My eyes narrow in irritation. I feel an itchy lump in my throat and I’m humiliated. No, I won’t cry, there’s no way. Just because it feels like no one’s on my side doesn’t mean I’m going to be the world’s biggest baby about it. I won’t become some bad-tempered little brat.

“Don’t call me that,” I snarl.

He tilts his head to the side challengingly. “Or you’ll do what?”

“Leave her alone, Xander.” Silver speaks before I can, stepping forward to move between me and her district partner. I’m surprised at her intervention. Before now, no one, not even Dom, was willing to speak up against another Career for me.

“She’s a titch,” Xander retorts, causing Silver to punch his arm hard enough to make him wince. She tosses back her blonde hair and ignores his mutinous glare, instead turning to face me and folding her arms.

“Need help with the axes?”

I nod slowly. I’m a bit unsure what to make of this. Why would Silver want to help me? It confuses me, but I realise I’ve got to stop thinking of everyone as solely my enemy. We Careers are allies at first – and maybe that’s just what Silver wants, to make a friend of me before we part as enemies. That’s if I’m not dead by then.

“Come on.” She walks back over to the weapons and I trail after her. Although Silver’s probably about seventeen, she isn’t too much bigger than me. It give me hope, because if Silver can manage to use an axe, maybe I can as well. I watch as Silver easily picks up one of the axes, swinging it and slicing a dummy’s head off.

“Wow,” I breathe in awe. “How do you do that? You’re not much bigger than me.”

“Years of practise.” Silver puts the axe in my small hands, correcting my grip as I struggle to hold it up. The other Careers are watching us. Xander is sullen, Melia is flirting with an uninterested Dom, and Romulus…he’s just staring, staring at me like he always seems to.

“It’s heavy,” I complain.

Silver nods. “Just test it out and get used to it.”

“Okay.” I weight the axe carefully. I don’t like the balance of it much. My knives are so much lighter in my hands, so much easier to throw. The axe is bulky and slow. Nevertheless, it’d be good to learn how to use a secondary weapon in case I can’t get my hands on any knives at the Cornucopia.

Silver watches as I swing the axe a little in my hands, getting used to the feel of it. She corrects my grip again, before I throw the axe. It’s a pathetic throw – it hits the ground a little way away with a dull _thunk._ Although it’s only a small effort, I suppose it’s better than if I’d dropped the axe on my own feet or something stupid like that.

“Thanks,” I say, turning to face Silver. “I prefer my knives, though. Why are you helping me?”

“You need,” Silver assures me, glancing over her shoulder at the rest of the Careers. “Besides, the other wants to make a meal of you.”

“They’re too self-absorbed to care,” I reply, although Silver’s words send shivers down my spine. Are the others really going to try and kill me so soon? What are they plotting behind my back, something Silver doesn’t want to tell me about?

* * *

 

**Finnick’s POV**

I watch the private sessions with the Gamemakers on the television, and I have to admit that what I’ve seen so far impresses me. The girl from 1 spins and throws two heavy axes in quick succession. Her partner’s demonstration with a sword isn’t quite as spectacular, but it’s still something. The pair from 2 are both quick and lethal – the girl fires arrows with deadly efficiency, and the boy demonstrates he can use a variety of weapons.

Even District 3 has managed to leave me somewhat impressed by their skills. The boy rewired a circuit to turn on a light bulb. The girl’s knowledge of poisons is also to be commended, and for a little, I mull over whether Elethea and Dom should attempt to recruit these two as their allies. They certainly seem useful.

It’s Elethea’s turn next. She enters the Training Center and I can see that she’s nervous. She’s fidgeting with her hands, raking her dark hair out of her eyes and examining the range of weapons on display. She bites her lip in consideration and I find myself silently praying that she doesn’t try and pick up the axes. To my relief, she instead seizes a pair of throwing knives and paces in a half-circle, facing one of the dummies. Elethea closes her eyes, opens them again and spins the knives in her hands.

At this point, the Gamemakers are still mildly interested. After watching the first three districts intently, they start to get a little bored as the skills of the tributes dwindle along with the number of the district. Admittedly, they’re probably also a bit put off by Elethea’s youth. She hurls a knife at the target and it hits near the centre – near it, but not dead in the heart of it. Elethea is beginning to panic, I can see it.

She examines her remaining knife and I find myself hoping she won’t just ditch the knife in some sort of desperation. She licks her lips and is actually patient for once, weighing the knife in her hand and examining her former hit. I know what she’s going to do now, but I know it probably won’t work. Elethea wants the second knife to hit straight in the hilt of the first. That would definitely impress the Gamemakers – if she succeeds.

When Elethea hurls the second knife, it strikes right next to the first one, quivering tauntingly. She sucks in a breath and I know she wants to lose her temper, but she can’t. She glances at the Gamemakers, who look neither displeased nor impressed. With a gulp, Elethea offers them a slight inclination of her head and then trudges from the Training Center. By the slumped set of her shoulders, I know that this can’t mean anything good.


End file.
